Softening the blow

It is a conversation I’ve had to have regularly with Barclay, the wonderful man who is my accountant.

Though I adore him, I will tell you that he needs to study the rules of Southern womanhood more closely when it comes to delivering dreaded news or criticisms.

Southern women have this formula down pat. In fact, a New York career woman once said to me, “What I want to know is how you women can say anything you want to say and get away with it. I want to do that.”

It’s very simple. We start out on the positive with a couple of compliments, slip in the complaint, criticism or bad news behind the good stuff then wrap it up on a high note. In order for the process to be deemed completely successful, the person on the receiving end must always feel good in the beginning and at the end.

Accountants and doctors, apparently, attend the same college course on how to drop bombshells smoothly, cleanly then exit quickly. I’m thinking we need to assign these courses to Southern women to teach. Then, all would be well with the world. Bad news would be softened in delivery while good news would resound enthusiastically.

Over the years, I’ve tried to instill these important teachings on Barclay. I still remember the day I was having a perfectly good morning until Barclay called and asked a question. I did not give him the answer he hoped to hear.

“Hmm.” He said it with a heavy thump. Long pause. My heart was pounding. “Well.” Another long pause. My heart was racing out of my chest. My mouth went dry. Then, finally, he commented somberly, “That’s not good.”

I swallowed hard. “Can you fix it?”

“I don’t know.”

See, that’s another problem – he doesn’t reassure me. Like all women – Southern or not – I need reassurance on a fairly regular basis.

Finally, the time came when I knew we needed to talk. It was the time when he called to inform me that a tiara was not a business expense.

“Yes, it is,” I replied calmly. “I needed it for the divas’ pajama party. I’m the grand princess and needed to be appropriately adorned.”

He laughed, which told me that as soon as my back was turned, he would be erasing that expense from my deductions. That’s when I launched into my lecture.

“You know, Barclay, I get this sinking feeling in my heart when you call because it’s never good news. Now, I know you don’t want me to feel that way so why don’t you call me with some happy news from time to time. And, another thing, when you must call with bad news, why don’t you find the positive in it because there’s always something good in everything. Put a Southern woman twist on things.”

He’s learning. He called last spring and was positively jubilant.

“Congratulations!” I knew he was beaming on the other end of the phone. “You had a terrific year last year. You’ve worked hard and it’s really paying off for you.”

I was beaming, too. “Thank you.” I felt good about myself.

“In fact,” he continued, “You had such a good year that you owe additional taxes.”

My smile vanished. My spirits plunged. Then, he dropped the bombshell – the amount I owed. He finished and hung up without giving me any happy news on the backside. It was a tactical miscalculation. Every Southern woman knows that you have to leave the injured feeling good.

Okay, so I have so more work to do. But I do think I’m making progress. We just need to work on his endings.